A Dark Knight Returns: Part II
by PaintingLakes
Summary: The Joker has returned. And he wants to keep his promise. (Chapter 4 is UP!)
1. That Joke Isn't Funny Anymore

As the faintest haze of morning light slowly came through the curtains, he awoke a little before realising vaguely that he was uncomfortable. Half asleep, he moved his head a little to realise that he wasn't sleeping on a pillow. He didn't have to open his eyes to know she was sleeping soundlessly with a serious expression and halo of hair covering her pillow.  
As much as he liked her- loved her even, she didn't make a good pillow. Manoeuvring back over to his side, he hit the pillow to get some more sleep before the dreaded alarm. Eight hours of sleep really wasn't enough.

* * *

As the sun brightened, she reluctantly came around. The alarm hadn't gone off yet and the daily agenda floated through her thoughts as she turned away from the sun, burying her face into a cooler part of the pillow.

* * *

The pale winter sun shone through the evergreen wood that surrounded the humble house, streaming in through the window and illuminating the steam that radiated from his coffee. His fingers clicked over the laptop that lay on the old battered kitchen table, looking through emails and possible places to rent. It was just a thought, but he had been thinking about becoming a private detective. But, it was early days. As he sipped his cheap coffee, Cat slipped in behind him, rubbing against the chair while looking up with either a pleading or bored expression. He had grudgingly feed it before Barbara ever moved in, but she now she was here she had insisted that it needed to have a name. They had compromised on the name Cat. He didn't really see the point of pets. She loved the mangy old thing, constantly picking it up and stroking it until it purred. He largely ignored it, so of course the cat followed him everywhere.  
He heard Barbara upstairs, padding about and rushing because she was late. No doubt she was tripping about and grumbling to no one in particular about how cold it was in the house, the water and how her hair was not co-operating.  
It wasn't long before she shuffled down the stairs, trying not to slip in stockinged feet and making chattering noises with her teeth as she picked up abandoned papers from the night before. He didn't bother to say anything, knowing he would get a vague answer because her mind was on other things.  
"...Remember, it's two-thirty at the airport." She mumbled it as she realised she had buttoned her blouse wrong, redoing it while trying to keep her almost shoulder length hair out of her eyes.  
She had cut it a few months ago. He was still unsure if it suited her or not, but it made her look older and that gave him an odd comfort. At the start he never really thought about her age. Because she had a degree and a higher salary than him, he just assumed she was in her early twenties. But she wasn't even_ twenty-one_ when they had met. There was also something unsettling waking up next to someone that could pass for a high-school-er, with her long hair and fresh youthful face he couldn't help but feel slightly guilty, not to mention what the Commissioner would do...  
"One-thirty." He replied, as she looked in the mirror that hung over his fire-place, checking if her bra was visible though her shirt.  
"What?" She combed through her hair with her fingers, blowing it straight was a pain but it made her look even more professional than usual. Like someone who could become a future head librarian.  
He tapped the keyboard so that the windows disappeared, closing the lid. "I'm picking up Alfred at one-thirty."  
She blinked, then got out her phone to check. He was right.  
"Oh. That's odd." She shrugged before stealing a sip of his crappy coffee. She sighed as she looked outside. "You know, this house is only going to get colder...I'm still paying rent for my apartment. It would make sense to use it..."  
"You going over to your Jim's tonight?" He changed the subject, not wanting to talk about moving. The last few summer months had been the best of his life. Happy memories were intertwined with every single room in the house and that was something new for him. He guessed it was what some people truly called home. But he didn't want to get all gushy about it so he just avoided the subject. "You promised you were going to tell him before Thanksgiving."  
"I know. I know. I will. But he just seems so..." She opened her purse to check something before looking at the time with dread, knowing there was no time to eat. Breakfast was usually reserved for weekends these days.  
"Distracted?" He smiled briefly before hearing an email notification. He was waiting for news about a place that was pretty cheap.  
She smiled too as Cat gave up on trying to persuade Robin, sliding up to it's loyal and faithful servant Barbara. She bent down to scratch it's head, she never had the heart to ignore him. "We're normal, aren't we?"  
He paused, caught off guard but considering his reply as a smile tugged at the sides of his mouth. "I think it's still more than average, I mean, last night we—"  
She made an amused noise and rolled her eyes before cutting him off. "Ohh, ha-ha. I think I liked you better before you got a sense of humour, Blake." Her fond and shy smile betrayed her sarcastic remark, hurrying off to put on her heels and half-hopping towards the door. She blew him a kiss as she flung on her coat that lay on the sofa before adding an "I love you!" in a funny voice that sounded like a posh old lady.  
Robin replied the same, only in his own voice. He didn't say it often, when he did Barbara didn't quite know what to do with herself. She looked like a dazed bird on the ground that had just flown into a window. Not quite sure what was happening or what to do next.  
"I'll be home for eight, hopefully." She replied softly, eyes saying something else, opening the door into the cool Autumn morning.

* * *

She yelled in alarm before she even realised it was her.  
Jumping back, she had almost stepped on the disgusting mess on the doorstep.  
"_Cat_?" She looked into the house with accusation on her face. _"Did you do this?"  
_The yell had made Robin jump a foot, within seconds he was beside her. Cat had disappeared.  
Below her feet, the remains of a brown bat, the type that was common in the area, was lying. Guts were in an array of colours and tangled with the fur. She shivered at the thought of her feet stepping on it, crunching bone.  
"Yuck. That was a shock."  
"Don't worry, I'll clean it up. You go on."  
She stepped over it and rushed to her car, wondering how their lazy cat ever managed to catch a bat.

* * *

Late from lunch, she rushed into the library with her navy coat and scarf fluttering behind her. She slowed as she found that the place had not caught on fire since she left. A definite plus.  
"Sheesh." A snarky and slow remark with no malice came from behind. "Could you _be_ any later?"  
Barbara turned to see her assistant, a girl with blonde and unashamedly messy hair that was tied up into a knot. She looked at Jen with an eyebrow raised, replying that she was only seven minutes late.  
"At a beauty salon? Again?"  
Barbara paused. Jen had a knack for educated guessing along with amazing observation skills that still impressed Barbara constantly. They had met when Jen crashed an English class once for free coffee and food. When Barbara saw her she had tried to persuade Jen to stay, just to even listen. The girl had taken one good look at her and simply replied "Jeez, okay. You look like you totally have a black belt in something so I'll do what you want. Just no kung-fo, right?"  
Since then, Barbara was determined to help her. _Really_ help her.  
"Did you print and sign those pages like I asked? I need them sent tomorrow."  
Jen picked up the said pages nonchalantly and impatiently got back to what she wanted to talk about. "He's one lucky guy..."  
Barbara pretended to take a sudden interest in the contents of her handbag as she muttered about stamps.  
"You must really like him. You come in here everyday with your heels and dresses and the hair...it's nice that you want to be perfect."  
"I'm not-" She abruptly stopped. Her colleague could bring out any truth in seconds.

* * *

She walked up to Wayne Manor and could hear the noise already. Halloween was in the air and the kids were pretty excited. She had offered to give a kid a lift, knowing that all staff would be needed in the manor on a night like this.  
Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she texted a short reply as she stood, waiting for someone to buzz the door open.  
She walked into the grand hall, and watched as some kids rushed around either ignoring her or avoiding her. She was an unofficial careers advisor and mentor who was infamous for her tenacity and was a match for even the most stubborn.  
A sister quickly saw Barbara waiting and went to fetch Stephanie—a shy, serious girl who was slowly making the transition to living with her father again. Tonight she would be visiting him. The goal was that she would be home by Christmas.  
Stephanie wasn't the only one. Lately kids who had been recently put into care had found that many of their parents had suddenly began to rebuild their lives and showed great interest in getting their children back. A piece of good news that was very precious to her now.

* * *

Barbara drove as Stephanie fiddled with CD's in the semi-darkness, looking for "something good". Barbara could only apologize for her stash of music that she had listened to in college, smiling as she remembered Robin's similar reaction to her taste in music. He had looked through her collections, pausing every now and then at an odd cover before grimacing at every high note that "some weird English guy" would sing as he finally played it. But they always shrugged off each others little quirks and oddities, accepting that it was just how it was.

She smiled as she saw the kid relax now that she had turned off her CD player and changed it to the radio. Now an old song that wailed something about a "Monster Mash" was playing instead. "Robin doesn't like my music either, you know...it's okay if you hate it."  
The blonde kid sat quite stiffly beside her. Barbara was going into the city anyway. Somehow there seemed to be a trend forming over the last six months. Parents seemed to be rehabilitating, then wanting their children back. Barbara sometimes wondered if her psycho brother's drugs were behind it. But she didn't want to think about that too much. She didn't want to think about him at all.

It was Halloween night. Barbara was turning twenty-one. It was about time too. She was waiting impatiently for it to come, itching to become an official adult. Then she could finally feel like she could break the news to her father. The news being that she, plain old Barbara Gordon who never turned heads unless she bought a fancy dress, the girl was labelled a classic overachiever and lacking in all-around sex-appeal met someone she liked and liked her back. Although tonight thoughts of Robin brought a certain nervousness. She stopped at a traffic-light and started to chew her bottom lip.

"Are you going to see your Daddy too, Barbara?"  
Stephanie interrupted her inner unrest. It was a welcome change. "Yeah, I am. I'm going to cook him dinner. I'm forcing him to take more care of himself...making him eat his greens, stopping him from eating too much Halloween candy..."  
"What?" Stephanie widened her eyes a little, "But he's your _Dad_!"  
"When you're older you'll find out that you have to look after your parents instead." She smiled a little sadly as the girl looked out the window as if thinking it over.

Barbara tuned into another radio channel as the local news came on, swiftly ignoring a stupid song about a guy saying he's crazy but wants to marry the girl he's dancing with. "Oh, looks like we're almost here. I hope there's somewhere to park..."  
"I'm okay with walking up myself."  
Barbara quickly dismissed the notion, insisting to go with her right to the door. "Not that I don't think you can handle it..." Barbara smiled encouragingly.  
"I guess. There's no Batman or Batgirl now. Bad guys aren't afraid no more."  
"Hey. You're forgetting about the police. They're the best of all. Batman doesn't have to do paperwork and stick to loads of rules while trying to do the right thing."  
"Or Batgirl."  
"Yeah."  
Barbara parked up, pretending to concentrate really hard on how much she was in the line. She hated it when anyone brought up the b-words. She wanted to forget she was ever involved with that. She was a civilian now. Not an outlaw.  
"Why did they disappear again?"  
Barbara shuffled though her bag, pretending to look for something before switching the car off. "No one knows. Maybe they got in trouble or maybe they decided to do the right thing and leave it to the police."  
"I bet they got married."  
She let out a snort of laughter that had caught her off-guard. The simplicity of Stephanie's deduction was very sweet but said with total seriousness. "I guess...that could happen..." She added compulsively, "Although I can't imagine it myself. It sounds like a fairytale. But it's a nice thought. Come on. Let's go and meet your Dad. I bet he's waiting with loads of candy."

* * *

She sat across from her father, the Commissioner. He had eaten everything on his plate and that made her glad. He was a tired man who was wounded and scarred in every way. Some old, some fresh. The loss of his son was a new one. Although, he was never found that night on the bridge, many gave him up for dead. Assumed he fell off the bridge, drowned and floated on into the watery abyss. Barbara didn't really feel anything about that. She was still rather dazed about nine months later. A lot had happened since then.

"Halloween already..." Her father had that look again, as if staring off into the distance but not focusing on anything. "You know, this time last year I actually hoped—" His sentence broke off and hung there, unfinished. Barbara sat, knuckles paling as she gripped her knife. She stared hard at the plate until it blurred for what seemed like five solid minutes. "But anyway," Jim continued, "what's the plan for Thanksgiving? It'll be here before you know it..."  
"Umm, yeah." She knew that she would have to do it, but one wrong word could ruin everything. "Well, I thought it would be kinda lonely with just you and me," She tripped over her words to get them all out as fast as possible, "So, I was thinking about inviting a close friend of mine. He doesn't really have any family...and—"  
Jim paused while thinking it over. Barbara knew he couldn't really say no, no matter how much he didn't like the thought of it. Her father already knew too much about spending holidays alone.  
"I don't see why not..." He raised his eyebrows, twitched his moustache. "Does this 'close friend' have a name?"  
At that she paused. His name...this could be tricky to explain later. "R—" She changed her mind, "John Blake."  
Her father looked at her for a few seconds, as if he was sure that he was joking. The desperate look behind that half-smiling face told him all he needed to know.  
"_Blake?_"  
"Yes. Since you already knew him I—"  
He closed his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief. "How could you do this to me..."  
"Do what?" She shot back, on the defence.  
"Besides," He dropped the question and looked into the same dark blue eyes that matched his. "He was wearing a badge, shooting down mercenaries while you were doing homework!"  
"I was in_ college!_"  
"You were _sixteen_!"  
Their eyes were locked, both as stubborn and as sure of their convictions as the other.  
"I'll make some coffee." Barbara picked up the plates and moved into the kitchen. This was something that mattered to her. She wouldn't let it go either. The Commissioner would just have to get used to it.  
The silence settled over the house as she waited for the coffee, tapping her foot and looking out at the slither of silver moon that hung in the sky. Her dark reflection in the kitchen window looked back at her, now a woman with a long bobbed hair-cut and glasses. Thank-goodness her father hadn't found out they were practically _living_ together. That would be a new nightmare entirely.

A doorbell rang through the house, cutting through the silence.  
"I'll get it!" She called, hurrying through the dining room, into the hallway.  
"Barbara..." Her Dad slowly got up as the doorbell impatiently rang again, "I'm..."  
She was at the door, opening it as she looked back at her father, painfully raising. She turned to see a huge mutilated grin. She froze.  
"_Barbara!_" Her dad's voice seemed like it was miles away. It was hard to hear over the gunshot.

* * *

**This is for you anonymous. Merry Christmas. You're worth staying up late to finish this. x**


	2. Ask

Robin John Blake sat on the couch, facing the fire that occasionally sparked. Apart from the light of the fire he was in total darkness, deep in thought. He closed his eyes and rubbed one of his temples as he mentally paced back and forth, trying to decide what to do. He also knew that she would be back at any second. He knew it was time to take a leap of faith.

* * *

_Robin waited in the early afternoon airport rush, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. It wasn't out of impatience—it was nerves. He hated this feeling. The uncertainty of it all.  
He watched through the window as a small family piled into a car. Sighing, he considered if he should ring Alfred, to make sure he was getting off today's flight. Who knows, both he and Barbara could be wrong.  
Five minutes later he saw Alfred through the people, walking tall and upright as usual, every inch the gentleman. Robin couldn't help but smile a little. It had been a long time. A lot had changed since they last spoke. He got out of the car into the fresh autumn air.  
"Alfred! Over here!"  
Alfred acknowledged him, smiling a little while raising his closed umbrella that doubled as a cane. "Mr. Blake."  
"How's the __Mediterranean?"  
__"Still standing..." His the cockney twang in his accent and his mannerisms had remained the same as ever. He handed the small amount of luggage over to Robin who put it in the trunk._

* * *

He pulled at the tassels on the blanket that covered the old couch, pulling the a small black box out for the thousandth time that day. A high pitched yam came out of somewhere and he frowned at the glowing eyes that were fixed on him. "There's no food in here." He watched the eyes flicker some more in the faint light. "I feed you an hour ago. You're ugly _and_ fat now. She feeds you too much. I know she doesn't buy that tuna for herself." He realised that now he was talking to the cat, like it could understand him. Another habit he had caught from her. He still hadn't decided if it was endearing or nuts.  
He opened the box and fingered the dainty engagement ring. One of the few things that was never gambled away in a card game. He had guiltily hid it from his father, keeping it for all these years. For the past ten it had been sitting in a safety deposit box. He had never planned to ever use it.

* * *

_"I actually wanted your advice on something..." He was stationary in the heavy city traffic, cars beeping and hooting around them. Alfred sat in the passenger seat, eyebrows raised.  
"All right."  
The question was like a rock in his chest. He needed to get it out but wanted to say it the right way and at the right moment. The other part was the sheer ludicrousness of the situation. This time last year his only thought of her was the regret she wasn't a guy—just so he could give her one good whack without holding anything back. And as for Barbara Gordon? Apart from the pretty package he thought she was some deluded over-achiever with either a vendetta against her dad or a death wish.  
Now he was worried if he should propose. He wanted to. He never imagined ever wanting to. But he never imagined that a normal life would ever be in his grasp. And that normality would make him as happy as it did. At that moment he knew it's what they should do.  
"It'll sound strange coming from me..." He cleared his throat as a taxi driver in the lane beside them swore into the polluted air. "But I wanted to see what you'd think—" He reached into the pocket of his jacket. He had left early that morning to go to the bank, specifically to get one of the only things that he had ever thought was worth protecting. He handed over the box, the worn dark blue velvet still soft in his hands. "I know nothing about jewellery and since you were in town, I needed a second opinion."  
"Well then, let me see..." Alfred was neutral as ever, not giving anything away as he took out a pair of semi-circled glasses, opening the box with expertise before peering at the contents with all the prowess of a master jeweller.  
"Mmm..." He hummed. After a minute or so of carefully holding the ring up to the light, he made a satisfied noise. Robin didn't have to look over to know that Alfred was looking at a gold ring that held a row of six small sapphires and a tiny diamond in the centre. The shape was quite unusual, the three sapphires on each side made a pair of shallow arches that dipped into a 'V' shape. He kept his eyes on the road, waiting for a rebuke or a grave head shake with a few words of warning. "Lovely." He concluded.  
"I was a little worried if they were glass or didn't have enough carats or something..."  
"No, they're definitely real. And I don't think she's the type who cares about that sort of thing too much."  
_

* * *

He looked at the clock. She was an hour late. He shook his head. Of all nights for her to be even later than usual. Still, she was getting on better with Jim Gordon. Blake never really thought about how much the Commissioner didn't know his own kid. He never really thought about the things you have to sacrifice for a big salary. Even the whole 'family night' thing took Barbara a few months of persuasion. In the end she just turned up on a Thursday night, not taking no for an answer. The Commissioner had been alone for too long, and his daughter just wanted him to know she wanted him in her life again.  
Robin got up, setting the ring on the mantle, caving in and dialling his phone. He hated bothering her. She rarely rang him unless it was necessary, and he had never been the clingy type either—but now concern and worry clouded his thoughts, gnawing his stomach. A car accident maybe? A mugger with a gun? A fire?  
The monotonous tone sound rang in his ear. He paced a little. She usually answered after four rings, or not at all.  
He told himself to wait half an hour and ring in ten minutes. Then if that failed he'd go over to Jim Gordon's to see if her car was there.

* * *

__"Y'know, I was expecting you to try and talk me out of this, Alfred."  
"Why, where you hoping I would?"  
"I don't know actually." He couldn't help but smile a little as they sat behind yet another row of traffic. "How's...Bruce, by the way?"  
Alfred cleared his throat for a second. "I'm sorry I never told you. But he never told me to say or not to—I also wanted you to be aware of the dangers—not that it stopped you..." He pressed his lips together in some regret, before his expression lightened. "Bruce Wayne is somewhere in Europe, probably. Happy, I'm sure. Either way, I'm leaving him to it. I'm just here for a few days to settle some business."  
"Do you know what he's doing? I mean, how did he adjust to normality?"  
Alfred saw the hotel he was staying in a block away, folding his glasses into his pocket. "Some way you are, I suppose."  
Robin Blake frowned a little, confused while he parked outside one of the best hotels in Gotham. Alfred continued. "He has someone he can share everything with. Even memories of a secret past. And another person who will never want to go back to that way of life ever again." He looked out to see the grand hotel that awaited him and the attendant who was approaching to take the bags. "Well, that's just my opinion. Thank-you, Robin. And say hello to Barbara for me."__

* * *

**__Well, that's that. We'll see what happens in the next chapter. Kisses and hugs to y____ou all! (All of these chapters are named after songs by The Smiths, and sort of tie in? This whole story was inspired when I sat listening t_o "That Joke Isn't Funny Any More" about a year ago. The lines, "I just might die with a smile on my face after all" and "I've seen this happen in other people's lives and now it's happening in mine" give you a clue to what's coming.  
Hope you hear from you soon,_**

**_DonJuan._**


	3. Asleep

_A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all!_

_ I might have sav'd her; now, she's gone for ever!_

_Cordelia, Cordelia! stay a little. Ha! _

_What is 't thou sayst?Her voice was ever soft,_

_ Gentle and low, an excellent thing in woman._

_ I kill'd the slave that was a hanging thee._

**King Lear** **Act V. Scene III.**

* * *

A smile was all she saw. Then a flash.  
After the bang she was just lying there, staring at the ceiling. Her eyes closed, a shadow loomed over her. Another flash. Then laughter.

* * *

Silence came, just as suddenly. It crashed over him.  
The air suffocated him, he collapsed a little, gripping the dining table.  
In that moment, all of the details bombarded him. Like any good detective, the violations and offences came to his mind. The evidence. The victim.  
She had been shot, close range. Her body was thrown backwards, into the antique glass cabinet behind her. The blood splatted glass broke into shards and wood had splintered before she landed on her back, eyes wide and glassy like a doll, a shaky breath escaping her lips like she was whispering what death sounds like. A flash of a camera made him blink.

Jim Gordon didn't realise he had already moved across the dining room. He had reached for his gun that resided with his coat and other things he had taken off before dinner. He shot at the intruders who unexpectedly only shot back once. As they retreated Gordon went after them, almost collapsing at the door frame as he looked down at the daughter who he was so proud of, who he loved so much, his little girl.  
He wheezed and clutched his heart as he made it to the front doorstep, his feet crunching through glass. He shot at the car that speed off, before sliding down and pressing his phone with all of his effort, looking over at his daughter again. The pain in his chest was more than he could take. His hand dropped as he left the phone to ring, closing his eyes while looking at Barbara, her limbs spread out as if she were about to make a snow angel—using the mess of debris around her as a substitute for snow. Her death seemed an impossibility, if she sat up at that very moment he would not blink an eye.

He forgot to tell her that he read the Christmas present she had given him. He liked King Lear, he should've told her that. He should've told her a great deal more than he did.

He could almost hear the laughter echoing in his head as he slipped out of consciousness. This world was too much for him. If only they could've taken him instead. If only.


	4. Well I Wonder

The large room was panelled with dark wood that had survived many years and probably seen many things. A few bullet holes still remained when the city became the talk of the world, about five years old now. But this February morning it was cozy with old radiators creaking and coffee expelling steam that was visible since the icy lemon light shone through the thawing icy windows.

In one of the library's function rooms that used to be a place for half-hearted addiction meetings, a group of women sat. The room was a little like a theatre with tiers of seats and most of them sat studiously with a novel open, while one or two who sat a little closer talked softly about something. There was a rattling at the door, followed by a red head coming through with her hands full of books and papers, elbow still on the handle. She was average height, fair with dark eyes and had biggish but straight regular features.

Jen was still standing at the desk, popping another sugar in her cup. She stood watching her with indifference as Barbara lay the handful on the desk. Jen hated the do-goody type. But she liked free coffee, cookies and heat.

Barbara greeted her in particular. Jen shot back a curt nod, noting how she was quite average looking but her large dark blue eyes seemed to tip the scale and brought her into pretty territory.

"So, how did you find it?" Barbara filled a cup with hot water and drunk it plain.  
Jen didn't like the sort of wholesome _look-at-me-I'm-helping-poor-people-read-stuff-that-will-enrich-their-dumb-ass-lives_ idea of the class so she replied that she hadn't read it since she had been too busy working her ass off to pay for her rent.  
"Oh. Barbara said, undeterred. Well, you didn't miss much. Jane was going to get married but it was a fiasco and Blanche turned out to be the secret ex-wife in the attic."  
"It's_ Bertha_." Jen corrected before she could stop herself. Jen had read the whole thing over two days between work and sleep. It was a freakin' masterpiece. She saw Barbara glowing with pride and trying to conceal the smile behind her cup. Jen rolled her eyes and settled at the very back of the class, out of sight.

"Is everyone here? Will I start?" She asked it before the door opened again and one last woman came in, shyly taking a seat at the front with a well worn and bookmarked copy of _Jane Eyre _in her tattooed hand that was covered in the names of her kids.  
"Since today is St Valentines, let's look at romance in this chapter...We've looked at the romantics and their ideals but we haven't really looked at passion. In these chapters we've seen the happiness it initially brought. Jane had underwent a transformation after the proposal, both physical and emotional."

Jen watched as Barbara paused for a moment like she was thinking about something. Something that was uncharacteristic. "What do you think, anyone?"

One of the women, raised her tattooed hand a little then spoke. "_I_ think the marriage ironically was just another cage. I know spinster-hood was miserable then and Jane keeps speaking about her freedom but she just seems to worship him so much, she's forgotten."  
Another raised her hand. "But she did already mention how she expected him to grow cold towards her after marriage. I think she's assessed her options and is choosing what is the most logical and realistic."  
Another noted, "I think she's too young to know what she's doing. I mean, this whole book was written by a Charlotte Brontë who has never been kissed and pining after fictional men she will never meet in the freakin' Yorkshire Moors!"  
Jen piped up, half raising her hand. "Either way, the marriage for Jane was the death of romance, her trust and happiness."  
Barbara snapped out of it. "You all had extremely valid points...Let's revisit some of our litarary devices and identify them in the chapter...and see how they match up to your opinions."

* * *

It was Valentines day alright. There she was, walking alone through Gotham. A bullet scar lay buried snug below the dressings and she had given up on searching the internet for ways to make it hurt less in the cold weather. She wondered how her father managed with more than one.  
The snow was thawing a little but still gray and ugly like all city snow. She sighed watching it. She hadn't talked to John Blake for over a month.  
The thought had been gnawing at her but she still couldn't think up an excuse to suddenly show up at his door. She imagined herself saying _"Hi! Thanks for saving my life and everything! Did you know that I like you? Yes! Me! Barbara Gordon! Daughter to the Commissioner, sister to James Gordon, you know? That guy who released the Joker and insured that the babies of Gotham were drinking drugged milk! Oh yeah, and sorry for all the times we fought. Physically hit each other. Really hard. But did you kiss me at one point or was that the bullet wound (inflicted by my father) messing with my brain? Happy Valentines!"_

She rolled her eyes at the amount of excalmation marks her inner voice used. With a huff, she tramped back to the library to wait two more hours until close. Her boss was slowly heading towards retirement and Barbara was battling it out amongst half the librarians in the state to get the top position. Some had twenty years experiance but her trump card was _Gotham_ experience. Half of those Earl Grey drinkers wouldn't know where to begin when the riots were on and everything was on lockdown. She also was looking for _her _replacment if she got the big job. And she wanted someone to train, someone smart who just didn't get a chance of formal education.

She sat down without a book, instead looking at holiday destinations online. She was felling a little facetious and typed "Holiday destinations for sad lonely workaholic women who speak fluent French."  
She looked up and her heart decided to stop. Her lungs panicked at this unusual interruption and her brain, a little miffed about being suddenly starved of oxygen decided that it couldn't think up of a single sound to make.  
There he was. Looking normal. Normal normal. Just as she was.

* * *

**Hey everyone! Thanks for sticking with me. I couldn't ask for better readers. I promise you there shall be more soon. **


	5. This Night Has Opened My Eyes

Commissioner James Gordon was no stranger to hospitals. He sat in the new wing of City Hospital, hooked up to some drips that was attached to his wheelchair. It was a temporary one. He could feel his legs. They ached like everything else despite the painkillers. Although he didn't want them to up the dosage so he remained mute about it. The pain was pushed to the back of his mind when sitting in the intensive care unit to be with his daughter.

The Gordon's had been discovered soon after the shooting. Police had came quickly. Jason Bard had one of the first on the scene. Then the paramedics. The Gordon's had made the front page, Barbara was pictured, holding her degree. Jim had never seen the picture before. All of her achievements were listed throughout the article to emphasise the tragedy, in particular the physical ones.

He sat in the almost silence, listening to the rhythmic sounds of the life support machines. The Joker. He had risen his ugly head after months in wait. Jim exhaled, heart starting to hurt a little more. The doctors had told him yet again to keep the stress down. He gritted his teeth as he tried to focus on something else. He wheeled over to her bedside, noticing her hair had lightened over the long hot summer, turning a lighter copper colour.

* * *

Jason Bard sat at his desk, handling calls. Last night Barbara Gordon had been shot. The city was crying for blood. He looked out the window into the sunrise, trying not to think about last night. The blood and her white face...none of it seemed real. He had cared for her in his heart, he would've stayed with her but she had drifted off somehow. In the end they were now simply friends, maybe she had walked straight into someone else's arms–he didn't know. But Jason was determined to be her knight in times of need, even if she belonged to someone else. He shooed away reporters and kept the Gordon's location a secret.

* * *

The CEO stood on the top floor of the Wayne Tower looking down into that vast city below that oozed into the horizon. She glanced at the front pages on the heavy expensive desk to see someone familiar. She read through it as she sipped on her expresso, she didn't bother with the financial section today.  
Suddenly the compulsion gripped her to ring her father as the red sunrise settled over the office. She dialled on the sleek wafer-thin phone and put it to her ear. After four rings the familiar voice said good morning.  
"Hey Dad," She searched for something to say since there was no real reason to call him. Instead she finished her greeting with a lame "It's Tamara."  
"I know. Caller I.D." She smiled slightly at his own brand of half-humour, and mumbled something about just wanting to say hello and that they should get dinner or lunch later.  
"Dinner would be nice." He hissing sound of fast cars on wet pavements driving by told her he was in a car.  
"Are you in a taxi?" She asked, wondering what he was filling his time with now he was retired.  
"I'm visiting someone in hospital. I'll soon need to turn my phone off."  
"Who? What's happened?"  
"The Commissioner's daughter got shot. Jim Gordon is a friend. Have you seen the papers?"  
"Yeah. I have." She looked at Barbara's face looking out from the news print. "It's actually the reason I called you. I don't know, I just realised I haven't seen you in a while. I've been so busy with the company..."  
"I'll await your secretary's call about reservations later, I have to go. See you soon."  
"Yeah...Dad?" She checked that he hadn't been cut off. "I want to do something about this. I want to help Gotham, but I don't know how. Help me."  
Her answer was a pause and another "See you soon."  
She hung up and watched the raising sun turn from red to peach. She pressed a button for her secretary while composing herself.

* * *

Marta was fleeing Gotham. Her youngest daughter's black hair bobbed up and down as she pushed her fluffy spider into the case. Her last and most prized possession finally packed. The sunrise came with bad news. He was back and he might come for her. That red haired kid was the daughter of a police comissioner. She was probably dead. Marta felt a little sad–more than she should've been–but adrenaline took over. A gun tucked into her sagging jeans, a sports bag with one change of clothes, food, water, medicine, bandages, ammunition and cash. Lots of it.  
She turned her heavily scarred face to her unflinching daughter. Those dear little brown upturned eyes didn't flinch. She was a quiet child but there was a rare quality of strength for one so young as she.  
"Ready to go on holiday to Mexico Cass?"  
She smiled a yes.

* * *

_**More soon.**_


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